The Nightmare After Christmas
by Ethereal Cacoethes
Summary: It's been, oh, let's say 100 years, shall we? It's been a while, to say the least, since the whole Halloween-Christmas hassle, train wreck, whatever you want to call it. Many of the original inhabitants had children, many more died. IN THE PROCESS OF BEING RE-WORKED AND RE-IMAGINED.


The Nightmare After Christmas Joel Rayne

Title: The Nightmare After Christmas  
>Author: Joel Rayne<br>Rating: M  
>Summary: It's been, oh, let's say 100 years, shall we? It's been a while, to say the least, since the whole Halloween-Christmas hassle, train wreck, whatever you want to call it. Many of the original inhabitants had children, many more died.<br>Content/Warnings: Possibly a bit dark. I plan on stuff happening, and it's not all going to be sugar and gumdrops. (What good story is?)  
>Feedback: Feedback? Feedback would be WONDERFUL! It'd be like giving a poor, starving person a six course meal. I'm that starving person- your reviews are the meal! Make me happy so I can write. :D (Please.)<br>Spoilers: Considering this work of fiction occurs YEARS after the plot of the original... None!  
>Disclaimer: Tim Burton is the creative GENIUS behind Nightmare Before Christmas. From the fat, lumpy, zombie lady and the gangly amazingness that is Jack Skellington to the oddity of Christmas town and the foreignly cheerful atmosphere, all of it is his.<br>Aha, eventually I shall bribe him! Or better yet, black-mail him to give me the rights... But until then, my insanity will have to be channeled through fanfiction and I will say this: I do not own The Nightmare Before Christmas! I only own the characters I created. Such as Jackson, Feryl, Maxia, Niklaus...etc. :)  
>AN:: Hey all! This is my first fanfic, don't kill me, please. Read and review, please?

It was a hanging, lingering stench. The putrid odor of death hung in the air like an ominous threat, a looming shadow of what would become of this flat field. Niklaus, red hair curling into his pink eyes, stood at attention with a wicked grin splattered on his face. His sword bobbled up and down in his grip as he took a step forward. "Are you ready?" His thickly accented voice crossed the small gap, pounding against the silence.

Jackson reached for the dagger on his waist, nodded, and then raised his weapon higher. The point directed at Niklaus, Jackson shouted, "Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war! That this foul deed shall smell above the earth, with carrion men, groaning for burial!"

Feryl grabbed his own sword and crossed the expanse. His footfalls crunched across the frozen grass, the noise keeping the chains of fear tight. He roared, a murderous streak of lightning that shattered the clarity of the image, and swung his blade down. The blood exploded into the swirling sky, a firework mosaic of macabre delights, and danced across his pale, colorless face. The body, the essence of its life bubbling out of it, crumpled to the ground like a withering plant, and was soon trampled underfoot.

"Cry havoc indeed," he cackled, jerking the blade into the air. It stabbed into the sky, sending him into a contemplative trance. What started all this? Why were they fighting? Niklaus was acting on his lust for vengeance, Jackson was willing to kill hundreds of Halloween town residents for a chance at his own life, and everyone else was just collateral. Casualties of war. Feryl ground his teeth together, but his anger was short lived. The battle was starting.

The ropes were cut. The bindings lost. Their minds free now, both sides rushed forward, dragging the sight of his bloodied figure under the sea of heads. A head of red hair bobbed towards the side, weaving a snake's path out of the melee.

Jackson stood tall amongst his subordinates and, through the fog of bloody projectiles' discharge, he was able to make out Niklaus' fleeing form. He kept his face steady as he pressed the dagger into a man's eyeball. He shrieked, dropping his gun to futilely reach towards the dripping fluids.

"Gaaaaaa—"

He silenced him with a swift jerk, shaking him and snapping his neck. The corpse fell to the ground, accompanying its many brethren.

"Have you no shame, tyrant?" He hissed, pulling his razor sharp murder weapon out of the cadaver. "Tyrant, show thy face. If thou be'st slain and with no stroke of mine…" Jackson bellowed, shaking the viscous liquid off his hands. He turned to look for Feryl, then felt a slamming blow to the back of his skull. Weak-kneed, he crumbled to the ground. He stared up at the sky for a moment before twisting onto his stomach. He needed to get out of there before whatever hit him before came back. And just where did that come from? What exactly hit him? But he stared at the snow, watching the red flowers bloom in the winter landscape below him instead of moving. As a body fell next to him, Jackson startled and started crawling away. _How degrading._

This whole ordeal was degrading. Niklaus, damn him, was just acting a brat. I've had no hand in what happened years ago! _My father and I are not the same person. Moreover, even my father had no malediction to Santa Claus, though he did have a childishly infatuated curiosity with him.  
><em>  
>~~~~~~ Three Weeks Earlier ~~~~~~<p>

Feryl, shimmying out from under the bed, rubbed his eyes. He hadn't slept well in what seemed like ages to him. Even him, with his infallibly fallible memory, couldn't forget that November 28th. Everyone else was referring to it merely as the Day.

Two weeks ago, Niklaus stormed in the main hall, brazenly bursting past the crowd, and grabbed Jackson by the collar. Being a docile and easy going man of twenty three, Jackson greeted him the way he would any guest. What he got in return was a slap to the face, spit in his eye, and a sore bottom from being thrown backwards.

"I will take what is appropriate for my own." Niklaus, red hair curling into his eyes, spoke with a thick Russian accent. "I am taking over Halloween town. If you choose to fight against my inevitable rule, then this means war." He was then escorted out, none too kindly, all while he laughed maniacally.

Jerking himself out of his memory, Feryl sighed and walked out the door, slamming it behind him. His eyes danced over the passing crowd, searching for a familiar face. Jackson wasn't among them. Crap. He'd hoped he would be, so he could just follow him to the meeting place. Instead, of course, he was forced to rely on his own fickle memory, and, wouldn't you know it, he didn't remember where he was supposed to meet up with Jackson.

His eyes scanned once more, hopefully, but once again his search was fruitless. At least he remembered that they had to meet, and the reason behind it. He fingered the hem of his olive toned over-coat, then the buckle. He, of all people, was a general. How did that happen? After all, he was only seventeen, wasn't there a different position he could man, instead of general?

He let out another sigh, shaking his head. As he did, he noticed the bar ahead. Jackson knew about Feryl's... problem, so he would probably have them meet in a public place. It sounded like something Jackson would do, and if not, then he could ask around to see if anyone had seen him.

As it was, Jackson had been waiting for about half an hour, impatiently tapping against the bar. Maxia raised her eyebrows at him, smirking slightly. "And, uh, so where _is_ Feryl? Wasn't he supposed to meet up with you?"

"How now, you secret, black and midnight hag... Quiet your flapping tongue."

She laughed, "My my! Aren't we twitchy today? Any reason you're quoting Macbeth?"

"Hold," he paused, turning his gaze from the door to her face. "Prithee, explain me this. How would you, illiterate lout, know of Shakespearean works?"

"JEEZ! How kind of you. I used to live in your house, remember? Until you kicked me out—"

"Yes, I did."

"—after your father died. And he—"

"I did so because you were, and are, an incompetent varlet. When am I going to receive my alcohol?"

"—never had a problem with me staying there."

"That may be so, but I am not my father."

She paled for a second, hearing his harsh(-er) tone. Stammering, she fumbled to fix her error while she poured a glass of wine. "I-I-I never said that, Jack."

"Jack_son_. My name is similar, not the same."

"I—"

"I believe you have other customers to attend to, Miss Maxia Rivaerdan." He took up his glass of wine, twirling the alcohol around, and turned to face the door again. She huffed her breath and mocked him behind his back.

"Would you kindly refrain from imitating me? I am quite capable of seeing you in the mirrors." Listlessly, he took a sip of his drink, rolling his eyes as she blushed. _Now, where has Feryl hidden himself?_

Finally, he spotted Feryl. Waving him down, he muttered, "Ah, by the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes…"

Feryl grimaced as he sat down next to him, eyebrows tilted upwards and lower lip caught between his teeth. "I—"

"Forgot? Yes, I'd suspected you would." He smiled ever so slightly, "Knowing this, I made certain I was prepared. Now, Feryl, let us depart and discuss business." Jackson stood, placing his half drunken glass and payment aside, and led Feryl out.

He jumped up to follow him, wide eyed, blabbering, "And… Have you thought about it? Whaddaya plan on—"

"Hold, prithee, and cease your incoherent ramblings. I have an inkling as to what direction I may lead us in, yes."

"And that is?"

"Wait and find out, my impatient general."

"C'mon!"

Jackson laughed at his friend's baffled expression, but kept walking. "Follow me."


End file.
